Roots
by holdmetonight
Summary: Quinn finds herself a tribute in the Hunger Games along with Noah Puckerman, a boy known for his ruthless need to kill. She learns that appearances aren't everything. Sometimes you need to look deeper.


**AN: I was going to use an OC as the narrator and main character of this story, but I decided instead to use a mash-up of Lucy/Quinn. Basically, I used a lot of traits I would have guessed Lucy to have instead of the "HBIC Ice Queen Quinn" since I found that it worked better for my story. Obviously, Quinn is still a beauty but she has the heart, kindness, and humility that I would think we'd find more in her Lucy alter ego/younger self. She is innately shy and quiet in this story. Hope that explains some things, and helps you to read easier. The other characters are cannon for the most part.**

* * *

Noah Puckerman's name was in the drawing for this years Games 42 times. He scoffed at the low number and kicked an indentation into the dirt with the heel of his boot. His anger and frustration was not only directed towards the Capitol and Game Maker for not allowing him to enter an unlimited amount. His 18th birthday had been three months earlier. He remembers the tense atmosphere of the room as his mother hugged him close as he held tightly to her, willing away hot tears.

This was, after all, his last year.

Noah's mother had been sick ever since he could remember. She was often found out of breath and he couldn't count the number of times a day he led her to the worn chair in the living room, scolding her for not asking for his help.

"I am not him, mother. Do you understand me?" He held her arms gently and fixed his stare to her own before she turned her head away.

"Noah, I.." she trailed off and let out a sigh before leaning back into the chair and closing her eyes.

"Yes, son." she breathed out and opened her eyes momentarily to give him a small smile. She patted his arm and closed her eyes again, turning her head to lay against the tattered fabric.

He followed the tired lines of her face and her thin hair that had fallen out of her bun. He walked to the kitchen and braced his elbows on the counters, running his hands roughly over his shaved scalp and squeezing his eyes shut.

* * *

_At 6 years old he watched his mothers frail form hunched over the table, hurrying to finish the extra sewing she had picked up that week. Her breathing was shallow and hands shook, blood stained the sleeve of her shirt from the multiple pricks the sewing needle had inflicted over the hours of work. He watched her splay her hand across the table, trying to gain her bearings as her head dipped and her eyes shut. She sat back up after the dizzy spell and continued her work. His sisters eyes had all moved to stare at their mother before returning to their work as well, solemn looks on their faces as their practiced hands moved._

_"Ma," Noah spoke quietly, as to not impair her fragile state any further. When he softly laid his small hand on her shoulder she flinched and turned her head towards him, rubbing the newly formed pearl of blood between her thumb and forefinger. His eyes widened as he took in the site and his own blood froze before he opened his mouth once again to speak._

_"You need to rest, you're tired. I can bring you some water and bread and-"_

_"Son! Do not disturb your mother when she is working, you cause her to lose wages. Unless you want to support this family now?"_

_Noah opened and closed his mouth, looking between his mother who now had her eyes focused downwards, and his father who sat on the lone chair in the room, with his boots off and strewn beside him, clutching a cup of dark amber liquor in his hand._

_His mother stared at him hard until he finally spoke again._

_"Yes, father."_

_"Make sure the kitchen is clean and everything is put away. Nothing out of place, do you hear me, Noah?" She whispered fervently, but not unkindly. Her voice shook with nerves and exhaustion._

_He simply nodded and headed into the kitchen, making sure to straighten his fathers shoes along the way as he had been taught._

_By 9 years old he no longer stayed in his bed, body curled up tight and shaking, waiting for the morning to come. The footsteps no longer sent fear coursing through his body, paralyzing him. The heavy sound of the worn soles caused his adrenaline to spike, hands clenching to fists, anger sourcing through him. He threw open the door, no longer peering through the crack in silence like he had for so many years. The sound of the wooden door splintering caused his father to look up. The large man held his wife's wrists in his tight grip, her face paling and eyes red with sticky tears._

_The lumbering figure roughly released the thin wrists and attempted to stand to his full height, stumbling back twice before righting himself and raising his hand towards Noah._

_"Get back in your bed. If I ever see you out of bed at this time of night again, you're mine. You got that boy?"_

_Noah didn't so much as flinch at his fathers words._

_"You let her go. Now." His voice was stern and aged. Low and laced with too much anger for a nine-year old body to hold._

_His father let out a chuckle and staggered back a step yet again._

_"Guess you want a beating tonight too, huh?" His dry laughter continued as he raised the corners of his mouth into a sneer._

_"Can no one in this house follow simple directions? Are you all stupid or somethin'? Well, fine by me. Get over here boy and let me give you what you're askin' for."_

_Noah stood his ground and slowly reached behind his back, gripping the knife he had stolen from his friend Finn, whose family baked bread for the town. He pulled out the length of the large kitchen knife and slowly and deliberately brought it to his front._

_"Noah!" His mother shrieked, outstretched arm shaking, reaching for him._

_"You put that away, now." She hissed out. Her teeth clamped firmly together, jaw tight, eyes wide._

_"No, ma. We aren't listening to him anymore." He turned his body to the large man and planted his feet firmly into the ground._

_"Leave. Take everything and leave. We don't need you." Each word was determined and loud throughout the quiet house. Soon the silence was broken with laughter once more._

_"You think I'm gonna listen to some scrawny kid? You think you can tell me what to do in my own house? To your own father?"_

_"You aren't a father, and this isn't your house anymore. Now get out." Noah set his jaw and gripped the weapon in his hand tighter, preparing for what he knew was to come._

_"You must really be outta your mind, little boy." His father started towards him, off-balance and path crooked. Noah raised the knife._

_"Get out NOW! GET OUT!"_

_The mans speed didn't slow and Noah stepped forward, slashing the knife out in front of him. The man in front of him drew back his arm, looking at the red blood pooling through the torn fabric of his sleeve._

_"You little bastard. I will fucking kill you," He lunged forward and Noah slashed his leg, before driving the knife into his side."_

_"GET OUT!" Noah screamed once more, pulling back the blade with all his strength and holding the stained weapon out in front of him._

_His father clutched his side, eyes widened and dark with fury. He looked over to the older woman seated on the couch holding her hand to her mouth but sitting silent. He turned his focus towards his son again and grabbed the younger boys hand that held the knife. Noah held the knife handle in his grip as tight as he could but the much larger man easily yanked it from his grasp, falling back and catching himself before standing once more. He stalked up to Noah and his sour breath hit the child's nose. Knife raised, he inched his face close enough until Noah was breathing his breath._

_"I don't fucking need you, and I don't need this family. I don't need this life." His hand shook and his face contorted. He raised the knife and before Noah could react, sliced through the child's cheek. Coordination off, the knife embedded itself in the skin and then slid off the side of his face, clattering to the ground. Noah wiped at the dripping blood with his sleeve._

_"Good luck supporting a family of five on your own. You chose this, you piece of shit." He accentuated his last words with his fingers stabbing harshly into the boys chest. Noah pushed the man in the front of him backwards with all his strength. The old man stumbled and turned towards the back of the house, not once looking back. The door shut and the house was left in silence._

_He turned towards his mother to find her head down, hands in her lap. Finally, after what seemed like an hour in the quiet house, a gun shot rang._

_His mother flinched once and then stilled. Noah stood still and focused on his breathing, eyes staying peeled to the back door._

_Hours later, after his mother had finally risen from the chair and slowly retreated to her bedroom, Noah stood in front of the basin filled with cold water and splashed water onto his face repeatedly, watching the red slowly swirl. Every time he touched too close to his cheek, his body shook with pain. Finally done, water a deep red, he emptied the basin, refilled it, and carried it with him as he walked towards the main room._

_He plucked the worn rag from his pocket and wet it before scrubbing at the large stain of red in front of his and his sisters' bedroom door. A few moments into his cleaning, he heard footsteps and soon his mother was kneeling beside him. He looked up and her and caught her stare. Finally, she leaned forward and placed the lightest kiss to his forehead. She went to reach for the cloth, but Noah pulled it away firmly in his grip. He placed his other hand on her shoulder._

_"You go back to sleep, Ma. Okay?"_

_She simply stared at him, tears forming in her eyes, the slightest smile peeking through momentarily before it was gone. With a nod of her head, she kissed him again, stood up, and retreated to her room._

_Noah stayed and scrubbed for hours until his hands were raw._


End file.
